In Your Wildest Dreams
by AJ Wesley
Summary: Trapped in a cavern after a hunt, Sam and Dean search for a way out. But Dean soon realizes there are some...complications. Set during Season 1.
1. Chapter 1

**In Your Wildest Dreams**

By AJ Wesley

_Happy Birthday, Kati!_

_This is for you, with love and gratitude_

**Chapter 1**

Dean muttered a stream of curses as he struggled up the side of the rock-strewn hill. The damned thing moved fast. Once they'd finally found it, it had taken off, and the pursuit was nearing an hour. It was playing with them.

Dean glanced up, looking for a tree he could use as cover before cresting the hill. One swipe of those huge clawed paws could take off half his face, and he'd just about had enough already. Dean angled toward a large oak whose roots snaked down the hill, offering him a more stable hold than the rocks. Easier on the hands, too. He was already on the verge of leaving his own blood trail.

Sam was behind him to the right, trying to flank it. Dean managed to catch his brother's eye and motioned for him to head farther right and seek his own cover. Sam nodded and moved off.

Backing up against the tree, Dean took a moment to catch his breath and draw his .45. Safety off. Okay. Inhaling deeply, he peered around the tree.

There on the plateau, not more than ten feet away, it peered right back. And then it grinned at him.

Dean shuddered. He'd seen a lot of freaky-ass things in his career, but this one took the prize. The lion body with razor sharp claws and scorpion tail he could deal with, but the human head with its three rows of teeth was just…well, it was just…_wrong_. And, _man_, he hated when it grinned at him like that.

A manticore. Who knew? What was next, a centaur? Pan?

Dean heard it laugh, and peeked back around the tree. Sam had advanced and made it safely up onto the plateau, but now he was standing in plain sight, trying to draw the creature toward him so Dean could finish his climb. Damn it. He tore from behind the tree.

The manticore whipped its tail and crouched like it was preparing to pounce. Sam took aim and fired, but the creature moved with incredible speed. From the horrific howl, Dean was sure Sam's bullet had hit it, but that didn't stop it. Sam tucked and rolled as the stinger tail slammed into the ground where he'd been a moment before. He came up in a crouch just as Dean reached him, and they both took aim.

The creature's gaze flicked between them, as if it knew it couldn't take out both of them and was trying to decide which one it should target. Dean took a step forward, leaving Sam a clear shot but drawing the thing's attention. It grinned at him again, an eyebrow quirking as if it knew exactly what Dean was thinking.

Dean suppressed another shudder. "Head or heart?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "No one's come up against one of these things before. Both?"

Dean nodded. "Sounds like a plan. I'll take the high road." He took aim, and—

His foot shifted. Or rather, the ground beneath it did. For a moment, Dean thought he had stepped too close to the edge, but a quick glance showed him otherwise.

As soon as his eyes were averted, the manticore pounced…right at Sam.

But Sam wasn't there. In the instant it took the shock to register, Dean felt the earth give way beneath him and he was falling. He flailed in a vain attempt to catch onto something, anything to stop his plunge into…whatever. But there was nothing. Dirt surrounded him, got into his eyes, his mouth, his nose. How far a drop was it? It could—

Oh, God. Sammy.

And then there was pain. Thousands of tiny needles pricking his flesh. He was moving in slow motion and didn't understand why until he opened his mouth and swallowed water. Ice cold water. It had broken the fall, but his moment of relief was stomped out by a blaze of anxiety. He was completely submerged and had no idea which way was up.

_Don't panic, don't panic!_ Dean opened his eyes, felt the cold burn. There, to the left, was a flicker of light. Sunlight through trees? Dean righted himself and, with a strong kick, propelled himself toward what he hoped was the right direction.

He broke the surface and coughed up water before he could drag in lungfuls of precious air. Through the roaring in his ears, he thought he heard his name.

"Sam?" he tried, but it was more a choke than anything else.

"Dean!"

There was some splashing, then a strong arm encircled his shoulders, a forearm under his chin, keeping his head above water.

"Y'all right?" his brother asked, breathless.

Dean blinked, trying to focus. "Yeah. Peachy," he managed to croak.

Sam began to drag him backward, and Dean reached up to grab his brother's arm. That was when he realized his .45 was still gripped firmly in his right hand. Then he remembered the manticore.

About a second too late.

Loud splashing and a panicked snarl close by set Dean's nerves on edge. Then he was being whisked around as Sam put himself between Dean and the creature.

A howl, a grunt, a gunshot.

"Sammy!"

"Go!" his brother yelled.

The only reason he did was because he felt Sam move, too. His focus was finally coming back, and Dean could see the embankment. He swam, powerful strokes swiftly carrying him the distance. Dean struggled out of the frigid water and twisted around so his back wasn't to the threat. Sam climbed out beside him, and Dean grabbed a handful of jacket and hauled him up. Panting, Sam spun and took aim at the wildly thrashing creature.

Okay, add that to the journal. Manticores can't swim.

"Let's try that again," Dean said, bringing his own weapon to bear.

Shot after shot rang out, the report bouncing off the rock walls long after they had stopped firing.

Sam was panting beside him as they watched the manticore slide beneath the surface, that horrific face no longer grinning. When it was gone, Dean let himself fall backward, wet denim splatting on the smooth rock. He shivered violently, his gaze drifting upward to the stalactites hanging over his head.

With a small gasp, Dean pushed up onto his elbows and looked around. Sunlight from above illuminated the cavern. Sunlight from a hole no less than twenty feet above their heads, centered over the water. They weren't getting out that way.

"Son of a—"

"There's got to be another way out, right?" Sam asked, reading his thoughts.

Dean looked over at his brother, taking in the wet hair, the blue-tinged lips. They really should be moving. "Yeah, probably. We just need to—" His eyes caught the stain of red on Sam's shirt. "You're bleeding."

Sam looked down, his face registering surprise as he fingered the four gashes in his shirt, the seeping claw marks high on the right side of his chest. "Huh," was all he said.

It was gonna hurt like hell when he warmed up. Dean examined the injury a little closer. It didn't look too bad, thank God, since all their supplies were topside. Except…. He patted down his pockets and, with a relieved sigh, pulled out his Mini-Maglite. When he looked up, he saw that Sam had his, too. "Save it," Dean advised.

With a nod, Sam tucked away the flashlight. "So," he glanced around, "which way do you think?"

Yeah, that was the real question, wasn't it? "Well," Dean looked around at the numerous passages leading off the cavern, "eeny, meeny, miney, mo." Dean shrugged. "If it starts going down deeper, we turn around and try another one."

"Sounds like this is gonna take a while," Sam said, pushing carefully to his feet.

"Yep." Dean grinned. "Hope you had your Wheaties this morning." He accepted Sam's hand up and grimaced when his feet squished inside his boots. "Gah."

Sam was already stripping layers, wringing out shirts. "Hey, at least we got the manticore, right?"

Dean sat on a nearby boulder and pulled off his boot, emptying at least a cup of water. "Too bad you don't have any heat to go along with that sunshine, Sunshine."

And despite everything, Sam laughed.

**oooOOOooo**

Two hours later, they were still wet, on their third passage, and no closer to finding a way out.

Once again, Dean pulled out his lighter and flicked the flame to life. Not so much as a waver. "I got nothin'," he announced, squinting into the darkness ahead. "What say we head back and try another passage?"

No answer.

Dean turned around, swinging the light toward his brother. "Hey."

Sam stood still, his head canted. He held up a hand, his index finger slightly raised: _Just a sec…_

Dean crept closer, eyeing the way they'd come.

"Did you hear that?" Sam asked, voice low.

"What?" he whispered back.

Sam paused, listened, then shook his head. "I don't know, man. It was like…like something was following us."

Dean whipped the light up, shining the beam down the corridor. Empty as far as he could see. He shrugged.

Sam's brows drew together and, with a small wince, he rubbed at the area surrounding the cuts on his chest. "You don't think the manticore—"

"Dude, it's dead. We nailed it, like, ten times." No way that freaky thing was still alive. No way.

"You sure?"

Aww, man, no way. "Yes!" Then again… "Pretty sure." Son of a—

Sam's head snapped to his right and he drew his gun. "There it is again!"

Dean yanked his weapon from his wet waistband and followed Sam's lead. "I didn't hear anything." He pressed his shoulder against the rock wall across from Sam and crossed his wrists, the Maglite beam guiding his aim. He waited a moment, straining to hear whatever it was Sam had. Nothing. He sighed. "All right. Let's go."

Dividing his attention between their route and his brother, Dean sidestepped his way back to the cavern where they'd started. Sam moved like they were on a hunt, arms rigid, hands gripping his weapon tightly. His eyes darted, constantly scanning. Okay, the place was really dark, and kinda creepy. Something wasn't right.

Sam froze, his eyes wide. Before Dean could question him, his brother spun, his aim swinging past Dean to the darkness behind them, and fired. The bullet pinged off the rock, and Dean instinctively ducked.

When the echo ceased and the dust settled, and all Dean could hear was the sound of his heart pounding, he lowered his arm and stared at his brother. "Dude, what the hell?"

"Did you see that?" Sam asked breathlessly. "What was it?"

Dean straightened, his skin pricking into gooseflesh. "I didn't see anything."

"Its eyes…" Sam's aim didn't waver. "They glowed."

Dean panned the light across the area. "There's nothing there, Sam."

"But there was!" his brother insisted. "I swear, Dean!"

"All right, Sam. All right," he soothed. "But it's not there now. Just…take it easy, okay?" He took a step closer, brought the light up obliquely to Sam's face. His pupils were so big, there was hardly a hint of hazel around them. They barely reacted to the light.

Damn it. Dean flipped the safety on and tucked his gun back into his waistband, then laid his hand over his brother's. Sam was trembling.

"Easy, bro, easy. Relax." Dean kept the light fixed where Sam was staring, hoping he could see that nothing was there. With a gentle push, Dean urged the weapon down. Sam fought him, fear in his eyes. "Sammy, look at me. Look."

It took real effort, but Sam obeyed.

"There's nothing there, Sam."

"But, Dean—"

"You gotta trust me on this, okay?" He grasped the 9 mil and pried it loose.

"No, Dean, please."

"It's okay, Sam," Dean assured him, keeping his tone soft, even. He eased the weapon from Sam's grasp and tucked it into his pocket. "We're gonna go back to the cavern and try another way, okay?" Sam's eyes darted about. "Hey! You with me?"

Sam focused back on Dean. He closed his eyes, breathed through his nose. "Okay," he said as if trying to convince himself. "Okay."

Dean patted his cheek, taking the opportunity to gauge his temperature. No fever. Sam was actually pretty cold. So, what? Dean's gaze lowered to the diagonal rips in Sam's shirt, the bloody skin beneath. Infection? No, that would generate a fever. Poison?

Dean ran a hand over his face. "Come on, Sam." With a hand centered on his brother's back, Dean gave him a gentle push, urging him forward. Sam's head turned slightly as he glanced behind, still terrified something was after them. Dean put himself between Sam and the imagined threat and kept them moving.

Okay, so, poison. Toxin? Sam didn't seem to be in any pain. Hallucinogen, then? Great. Sasquatch on a nightmare LSD trip. At least it wasn't fatal. Was it? God. _Come on, Dean, think!_ There just wasn't enough info out there on manticores. If he could just—

Sam stopped and took a backward step. Dean crashed right into him.

"Sam?"

Sam reached back, his fist clenching in the denim of Dean's jacket. "It…it…"

"There's nothing there, Sam," he insisted.

His brother whirled. "God, they're everywhere! Dean!"

"Sammy, listen to me!" Dean practically yelled. "I think the manticore drugged you. You're seeing things. You gotta focus." He took Sam's shoulders in his hands. "There's nothing there! You hear me?"

But Sam's eyes were glazed and wide with fear. He shook his head. "No. No!" Before Dean could stop him, Sam grabbed the gun from his waistband.

"Sammy, no!"

"Dean, look out!"

Shoved aside, Dean hit the wall as three shots rang out, bullets ricocheting in the confined space. "Sa—"

Pain lanced through his skull, turning everything white. Dean fought for balance, clutching at the smooth rock face for support. Limestone. Slippery. His legs gave way, sending him crashing to his knees, where he swayed, trying not to topple. Sam. Sam was… Sam was…

Dean glanced around, shadows in the dark. Couldn't see out of his right eye. Something… He reached up and touched his face. Wet…sticky… Dean held out his hand. It was stained black in the dim light. Light—where was the Maglite? Had to have light. God, his head hurt. Where was…?

"Dean? Dean!"

Couldn't keep his head up anymore. He felt himself falling but couldn't do anything about it.

Arms caught him, held him close. A long leg hooked around him, supporting his back, his head nestling into the crook of an arm. So cold, but somehow warm. "S-Sammy?"

"Dean. Oh, God. Oh, God."

There was sheer panic in Sam's voice. It couldn't be that bad…could it? "Sam," Dean said again, but it sounded more like a croak.

"No, no, no. Come on, Dean, don't you do this. Not after Nebraska. After everything."

Guess it was that bad. Funny, it wasn't like he'd thought it would be.

"Dean…please…don't leave me. Please."

Something warm and wet splashed onto Dean's face and he flinched. Then Sam's forehead was touching his, and Dean felt himself swaying…no, rocking. Sam was rocking him.

For an instant, Dean wanted to push away, to shout, to scream. He didn't want to die in some friggin' cave, to leave Sammy alone down there. This was so wrong.

Sam's other arm slid around his back and pulled him close. Dean melted into the embrace, hearing, _feeling_ his brother's sobs. It lodged a lump in his throat. _I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm so sorry_.

Sound tunneled, echoed. Sam's voice. But Dean couldn't understand the words. He was falling again and, like last time, he had no idea what, if anything, would break his fall.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**In Your Wildest Dreams**

By AJ Wesley

**Chapter 2**

Cold.

That was the first thing that came to mind. He shivered, and that simple reflex set his head ablaze.

_Son of a—_

He really hoped it was a spectacular night that had left him with such a killer hangover.

It took great effort, but somehow Dean managed to open his eyes. Well, one eye. The other wouldn't open.

Darkness.

And…hard to breathe. He huffed out a breath, felt the warmth of it on his face. _What the—?_

Dean reached up, his fingers brushing the cold, wet material covering his chest and face. So cold he'd burrowed under the covers? But…why would the covers be wet…and so short…?

He yanked them down. Still dark.

No, wait. There was the smallest bit of light. Dean could see it as his eye adjusted. His focus jumped in and out, and he suddenly felt very tired. So he lay there, trying to remember.

_Nope. I got nothin'._

And thinking made his head hurt more. Okay…

Cold. Yeah, he got that. Pain. Yeah, he _so_ got that. The tips of his fingers touched the ground beneath him. Rock? Rock. That should mean something…

A faint dripping noise echoed in his head. Or not. Not his head, which _hurt_, by the way. Dean could hear the dripping water and…something else. A soft keening. Sometimes there, sometimes not. The sound formed a knot in the center of his gut, a knot that grew, as if deep down he knew this was urgent, knew he needed to respond, but it was taking his brain longer to—

Sammy!

Forgetting the cold and the pain, the dark and the _pain_, Dean forced himself up. Inch by inch, he rolled to his side, pushed up on his elbow, up further on trembling arms until he was sitting on his legs. He caught himself with a hand as he listed, feeling as though he'd just stepped off the Tilt-a-Whirl after an extended ride. Sammy used to love that...

Sam. _Focus, Dean!_

The sound came again, a soft whimper right in front of him. Dean squinted in that direction, in what he suddenly realized was the beam of the Maglite lying discarded somewhere nearby.

His brother was kneeling just beyond arm's reach, like he'd been walking away from Dean and his legs had suddenly given out, depositing him on the smooth rock floor. His shoulders were hunched, and Dean's pistol was gripped loosely in his right hand.

"Sam?" Dean called, but the name was just a rasp in his throat. Dean cleared it, shifted himself closer, reaching out an unsteady hand. "Sammy?" His fingers brushed Sam's shoulder.

The reaction to the touch was so violent, Dean nearly fell over. It wasn't until the cry faded, Sam plastered against the far wall of the passage and the roar in Dean's ears subsided, that he heard the clicking. It took him a moment longer to realize what it was. Sam was pulling the trigger over and over again, but the clip was empty. Thank God for small favors. But why was…?

Images flashed through his mind, blinding Dean with pain. One hand flew to his head while the other slapped back to the floor, bracing. The manticore. Sam was hurt. Sam was… Damn, his head….

Dean waited for the moment to pass, waited for the two Sams to merge into one. It was disconcerting to see his brother holding the pistol aimed at him. No, it hurt. Twisted his gut into knots. Even though, just like before, Dean knew Sam wasn't in control and the gun was empty, it still _hurt_.

No, he couldn't go there now.

Dean managed to focus. Sam wasn't angry. He was shaking, his feet scrabbling against the rock floor in a desperate attempt to back away. His eyes were wide as they stared at Dean, both hands gripping the weapon in an effort to steady it. Whatever he was seeing, it terrified him.

Dean stilled, then lifted a placating hand. Sam stopped trying to become part of the wall, but he still held the pistol up, his chest heaving for breath.

"Sammy—"

"Don't. Don't you dare."

Okay, _now_ Sam was angry. But Dean still wasn't sure why. "What?" he asked, at a loss as to how to help his brother.

"What are you?" Sam asked, his voice catching. "Shapeshifter? Thought-form?"

"Dude, it's me!" Dean moved a little closer, which sent Sam lurching back, head clocking against the rock wall. He didn't even flinch. "Whoa! Easy!"

"Nice try, but it won't work."

The gun was almost steady in his grip now. Dean wondered if his brother even realized it was empty. "All right, look." What should he say? "You've been drugged, Sammy. Somehow…the manticore, when it clawed you. Remember?"

Dark eyes shifted down to the bloody stains on his shirt, but were back on Dean an instant later.

Wait. Sam wasn't wearing his jacket. A quick glance over his shoulder at the bundle of fabric he'd left behind, and Dean realized what was happening. The jacket had been covering him, his _face_. Sam thought he was… Oh, God.

"Sam…this stuff you're seeing…it isn't real."

"I can see you."

"Good point." Way to go, Dean. "But I'm real. I am. C'mon, Sam. You told me you knew the shapeshifter wasn't me. You said you could tell. You can do it this time, too."

He searched his brother's eyes, saw the brows draw together as Sam tried to think. Then his gaze flicked to the spot where Dean had been lying. Sam's eyes welled with tears and he shook his head.

Dean turned to look. "Sam, there's noth—" He turned back to find the pistol in his face. _Geez! Empty, remember?_

"My brother is over there," Sam said, his lower lip trembling. "I shot him. I shot him and now he…he…" Tears spilled over ruddy cheeks.

Dean had to look away for a moment, his brother's pain squeezing the air from his lungs. He took a breath, composed himself, and jumped back in. "Sam, you didn't kill me. I'm here, okay? The bullet ricocheted but it only grazed me. My head hurts like a bitch, but I'm not dead. You hear me?"

But apparently, Sam didn't. He stared at the hallucination, his head shaking slowly in denial. Then, suddenly, his eyes went wide and he looked at Dean. Really looked at him.

Dean breathed out slowly, waited.

"Oh, my God…" The weapon fell away as Sam's hand dropped to his leg.

"What?" When his brother remained silent, Dean urged, "Sammy, what?"

"It _is_ you…" The words were barely a whisper.

"That's what I've been trying to tell y—"

"You're a spirit. A _ghost_."

Dean's mouth hung open for a few more seconds before he gathered himself enough to close it. Okay, that was _so_ not what he was expecting. Leave it to the college boy to come up with that. The words were out of Dean's mouth before he could stop them. "Yeah, and I've come back to haunt your ass."

Sam wrapped his arms around his middle. "Oh, God." His chest hitched with panting breaths. "No." He lurched sideways, one hand snapping out to keep himself upright, the other still tightly pressed against his stomach. He coughed and retched, trying in vain to catch his breath.

"No, Sam, I didn't mean… I'm sorry, man, I—damn it." Great, Dean. Make the kid feel worse. He edged closer and slid an arm across his brother's shoulders. But the contact only seemed to upset Sam more. The cry that burst from the ragged throat, part anger, part grief, nearly shattered Dean's fragile hold on his resolve. "Hey, hey, easy, easy," he soothed, feeling the tremble in the muscles across Sam's back. "Breathe, Sammy. Come on." Moving by instinct, his fingers squeezed the bunched biceps, moved up to Sam's shoulder, then to the nape of his neck, easing away the tension and offering what support he could until the spasms subsided.

The passage filled with the sound of Sam's harsh breathing. Dean gave him a moment, then grasped his upper arms and eased him upright. Sam dragged a sleeve across his mouth, then let his arm fall listlessly into his lap.

Dean didn't like the lack of expression on his brother's face. "Come on, Sam. We gotta get you outta here."

A small shake of the head. "I'm not leaving him."

Exasperated, Dean rolled his eyes. Bad move; his head started pounding again. He pressed thumb and middle finger of one hand into his temples and waited it out. His thumb peeled from the tacky, drying blood that was making his face itch. _Think_. He should be able to figure this out, know just what to say, but his concussed brain was not cooperating. There had to be a way to get it through that thick head that—

Wait. Maybe that was the problem. Sam's brain was taking a trip, so maybe that wasn't the right target. Dean licked his lips, tasting blood. A lump lodged firmly in his throat, and he swallowed it down hard. "Sammy," he began and, _damn,_ why was this so hard? "I need your help."

The change in Sam's face was minute, but Dean caught it, along with his breath. He waited, and finally Sam's eyes slid his way. "Dean?"

The breath left him on a relieved sigh. "Yeah, Sam, it's me."

"Don't leave. Please."

It was barely a whisper, but the plea tightened a fist around Dean's heart. "I'm not going anywhere. Not without you. Come on, I need you to help me get out of here." Sam's eyes began to drift back to whatever death vision he was seeing, and Dean gave him a shake. "Hey! Look at me, Sam." He shifted, keeping himself in his brother's line of sight. "Look at _me_." Sam did. "So, you gonna help me, or what?"

Sam really seemed to focus this time, and when their eyes met, Dean saw him wince. Dean knew he must look horrible, but he couldn't help wonder what Sam was actually seeing. Whatever it was, his little brother overcame it, swallowed, and nodded. Dean smiled as he clapped the slumped shoulders. "Come on."

Sam flattened his palms against the rock wall and pushed himself up.

Dean stood with him and instantly regretted it. The spike of pain that shot through his head was crippling, driving him back to his knees with a groan. He would have face-planted if not for the hands that clamped on to the still-wet denim of his jacket.

"Dean!"

One hand moved to press against his breastbone, holding him upright as Sam squatted in front of him.

"Dean, what is it? What's wrong?"

"I think somebody's playing Ping-Pong with my brain…"

"But you should be… Why are you…? If you're…"

Dean tried to focus on the concerned face before him. "If I'm dead?" He sighed. "Is this what happens when college kids get high? Remind me never to go to a frat party." He grabbed Sam's arm and used it to slowly lever himself up. "Of all the things for that freaky brain of yours to latch on to. Geez," he finished on a choked grunt. He felt Sam's arm slip around his waist and was grateful for the support.

"Which way?"

"Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I suddenly know everything." Dean scowled. "Man, now you've got me doing it. Just head back to the main cavern." He hooked the fingers of his left hand over Sam's shoulder and did his best to keep his feet beneath him as Sam started to move.

Dean lost track of time, but a stumble over his own feet and the resulting jar jolted him back to awareness. Panic gripped him; he couldn't afford to lose it now. Sam needed him. Sam—

—stopped. "No."

Dean came fully aware at the fear in that one simple word. It was an effort just to focus his one eye, and he realized belatedly Sam was holding the Maglite. When had he picked that up? The beam illuminated the passage ahead of them. There was nothing there. "Sam?"

A tremor coursed through Sam's body, and he took a step back.

"Sammy, what is it?"

"No…please…"

Dean could feel the pounding of his brother's heart. "Come on, Sam. There's nothing there. You can do this."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can!" The force behind the words sent a wave of nausea rolling through his stomach. Dean grit his teeth and focused.

"No." Sam sounded so small, like when he was a kid.

Okay, so maybe Dean didn't know how to deal with manticore LSD, but _this_ he could handle. He pulled himself up to his full height. "Look, man, I don't know what it is you're seeing, and I get that it's scaring the hell out of you. But you know what? It can't hurt you. It can't. Because I'm here. And I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. You hear me? Sammy?"

"I—"

"Do you trust me?"

"Dean…"

"Do you _trust_ me?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and nodded shakily. "Yes," he whispered. Then again, with more conviction, "Yes."

"All right, then." Dean eased himself from Sam's support, slipped the Maglite from his grasp. "We can do this. You and me. Okay?"

Another jerky nod.

Blowing out a quick breath through his mouth, Dean stepped in front of Sam, putting himself between his brother and the threat. Even imaginary monsters had to go through big brother first. He reached back a shielding arm, keeping Sam behind him, to the passage wall. Long fingers curled around his forearm and held on tight. A surge of pride bolstered Dean, keeping him moving despite the dizziness and nausea. They'd been back together, what? Five months? Apparently, Sam hadn't completely lost faith in him in the three years they'd been apart. That had to count for something. It was a touch of warmth in the cold darkness that was…

…getting lighter. The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Passage. Whatever. Damn, it was getting hard to focus again. But they were nearly back to the main cavern. Just a little farther, then they could take a break. A few minutes, that was all Dean needed. He pushed himself forward, step-by-step, until the passage widened and gave way to the place where they'd started. "We made it, Sammy," Dean said on a sigh. "We made it."

No answer. Dean turned.

Sam was slowly opening his eyes, then glancing around, his brow knitting in confusion as if he wasn't sure where he was. His grip loosened on Dean's arm, then his eyes rolled up, his head tipped back, and his legs folded.

Dean darted forward to break his fall, but the movement sent him reeling. He staggered sideways and ended up on one hand and knee. Heart hammering, he reached out to lay trembling fingers over the pulse point on his brother's neck. _Scared_ _to death_ crossed his mind, but the wild beating of Sam's heart stilled that fear, giving way to another. How much stress could a heart take? Sam was young and in good physical condition, but the poison…

No. No, Sam was a fighter. This thing would not get the better of him. It wouldn't. Not if Dean could help it. He shifted closer, sliding his arms under Sam's and, with what remained of his strength, dragged his brother away from the mouth of the passage to the smoothest area he could find. He got Sam as comfortable as possible, then combed his fingers through the damp hair.

"It's all right, Sam. Just relax. You're safe. I'm right here." He continued the soft mantra as he checked the claw wounds for any signs of infection, then, satisfied, stayed by Sam's side until his breathing slowed to normal and his racing heart settled to a less worrisome beat.

Exhaustion was setting in fast, but there was one more thing Dean needed to do. Crawling on his hands and knees, he found the nearest pool of water. His hands were filthy, so he just lowered his face to the water and took a long drink. The water was cold as ice and tasted wonderful. He drank his fill, then rinsed his hands and carefully began washing the blood from his face. It was with a sigh of relief that he was finally able to pry his eye open.

Dean sat back on his heels, slumping tiredly. Now if only he had the materials to build a fire, but there was no wood down there. He shivered. God, what he wouldn't give for a lumpy mattress and a threadbare blanket. But right now, rest. Not long. Just…a few minutes.

Dean dragged himself back to where Sam lay, gave his brother a reassuring pat, then curled up beside him and closed his eyes.

Just for a minute.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

**In Your Wildest Dreams**

By AJ Wesley

**Chapter 3**

His teeth were chattering, his body shaking. Damn, who turned off the heat? He groped blindly, reaching for the blanket that must have fallen to the floor. Or maybe _he_ had. It was hard and…no carpet…no… What the—?

Dean struggled up to sitting, blinking in the darkness. His head pounded like a son of a bitch, and he _knew_ something was wrong. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead to ward off the pain but jerked it away when another shockwave threatened to split his head open. A curse slipped out through clenched teeth, and he wrapped his arms around his stomach. He would _not_ hurl. No way.

Dean breathed steadily through his nose until he regained control, then let out a shaky breath. What the hell was going on? He looked around. Listened.

His clothes were icy cold and damp. The echoing _drip, drip_ stirred a memory Dean knew was urgent. A rustle of leaves and a cool breeze from somewhere above. A cave. He fell. _They_ fell.

Sammy.

The flood of memory was like a physical blow. Dean blindly searched the space around him, certain now that Sam had been there. Nothing now. Damn it.

Wait.

A frantic search of his pockets turned up the Maglite, and Dean twisted the thing on. "Sam?" he called, not caring that it hurt. He waited, but there was no answering call. Dean climbed to his feet, grabbing a nearby stalagmite to steady himself. So many passages. So many different directions for Sam to go. So many ways for him to get hurt. Dean's throat constricted, his stomach clenching.

He aimed the beam at the cavern floor, looking for anything that might give him a clue. Come on…

There.

Okay, so it sucked that the cold damp of the cave made it impossible for their clothes to dry out quickly. But it also meant wet footprints didn't disappear, either. Sam had apparently sloshed through the pool of water Dean had used to clean himself up. Small favors. Okay, to the right, then. That narrowed it down a little. He followed the soggy footprints until he reached a spot where the entire floor was wet. The trail ended there.

Or did it?

Three passages to choose from, or an area in the back where the cavern dipped deeper into the earth. Not that way. So, maybe, if the passages were dry, he could pick up the trail along the way.

"Sammy?" Dean tried again.

_"Dean! Over here!"_

It was faint, but enough to give Dean direction. Just when he started moving again, he heard—at least, he thought he did—a desperate, hopeful plea. It sounded like—

_"Dad?"_ Louder this time, more urgent.

Dean's chest compressed, pushing the air from his lungs. He knew how badly Sam wanted to find their father, especially after hearing that Dad had checked up on him at Stanford, how proud Dad was of him. It was almost an obsession. And apparently the drug was playing with that little tidbit of information now. Great.

Dean chose a passage and ran. Ignored the pain in his head, because right now, only one thing mattered. "Sam?"

The light bounced off the rock floor ahead of him, then was abruptly swallowed up by darkness. It took Dean another moment to realize what it was, what it meant. A crevasse.

Dean gritted out a curse and threw himself back in a desperate attempt to stop. His boots skidded along the rock, momentum carrying him forward. He hit the ground hard and slid along the smooth surface, hands scrabbling for purchase. Layers of skin scraped away until he could feel the sting, the blood, but he finally managed to stop his forward motion before it carried him over. His legs hung off the edge practically to his knees. Dean bent them, planted his feet firmly on rock, and pushed himself back.

That had been too close. _Way_ too close.

"Sam?" He felt the choke of urgency more than ever now. If—

_"Dean?"_

"Sammy?" Dean scrambled over to where he'd dropped the light and panned it around. "Where are you?"

_"Dean! Dad's here! I heard him. He's down there somewhere. We gotta find him."_

Dean climbed to his feet and followed the voice, finally locating his brother on a ledge about seven feet below where he was standing, but on the opposite side. "Sammy, don't move!" Dean ordered. He had no idea how his brother had gotten there, but one more step, and it was journey-to-the-center-of-the-earth time.

Sam looked over the edge, frantic, searching. "We have to help him, Dean!"

"Dad's not here, Sam." And, God, he wished he'd never seen the tear-filled gaze that turned up to him at those words.

"No, he's here. I heard him. I swear, I—"

"Sam, please, just…just hang on a minute." Dean searched frantically for a way to reach his brother. To his right, the crevasse narrowed to an opening of a few feet. Sam must have jumped across to the other side there. "Don't move," Dean reminded him. "I'll be right there."

"O-okay," came the reply. "We can find him, Dean."

Dean made his way carefully over to the narrow part of the chasm. The ledge on the other side was only a couple feet wide, but he didn't have a choice. Dean didn't look down, just jumped, with maybe a little too much force.

He hit the wall on the other side, bloody hands splayed to keep his balance. Once he was steady, Dean blew out a shaky breath of relief and hurried back to Sam, who blinked up into the light, looking like a lost little boy.

"Come on, Dean. This way."

"_No._"

Sam took a step.

Dean lunged for his brother.

The Maglite hit the ledge, bounced off, and fell into the chasm. Dean got one brief look at the terror on his brother's face before they were plunged into darkness. The pinprick of light got smaller and smaller until it disappeared completely. He didn't hear it hit bottom.

Sam had hooked the fingers of his left hand over the edge of the crevasse to steady himself. Not enough to give him purchase, but enough for Dean to latch on to. Sam's grip slipped, and Dean cried out as his brother's full weight pulled on his arms. The edge pressed into his chest as Sam swayed.

Dean could feel himself being pulled over. He dug in with his toes. His grip on Sam's left arm was slipping, the blood on his hands making it hard to hold on.

"Grab onto me, Sam!" he gritted out.

"Dean?"

The sudden awareness in the call should have been a relief, but Dean couldn't allow it right then. "Sammy, _please_." Sam slipped further, Dean's hold only on his wrist. "No!"

Sam's other hand locked around Dean's arm, and Dean allowed himself a breath of relief.

"Come on, Sam. Pull yourself up."

The only reply was a grunt, but he felt the grip tighten, felt the strain as his brother obeyed. Dean heaved, pulling back away from the edge. When the upper half of Sam's body had cleared the ledge, Dean grabbed his belt, wrapped his other arm firmly around his brother, and dragged him clear. They fell in a heap, gasping, ragged breaths echoing off the walls.

Dean held on tight, couldn't let go.

"It really is you, isn't it?"

Sam's breath was warm on his neck. The first warmth Dean had felt in…he didn't know how long. "Yeah, Sam. It's really me."

Something that might have been a laugh, or maybe a sob, huffed out of Sam's mouth, then his arms wrapped around Dean. "You're not dead."

"I'm _not_ dead," Dean assured him.

Another huff, definitely a laugh this time, and Sam's arms tightened around him. Dean thought he heard a quiet, _thank God_, and couldn't keep the smile from his face.

Then, softly, "Dad's not really here, is he?"

The adrenaline rush ebbed, leaving Dean exhausted and hurting. "No, Sam." He shivered, couldn't bring himself to say more.

It took him a few more minutes before he realized there was a draft blowing across his face. Dean focused. Waited. And just when he thought he had imagined it, it came again.

Dean looked around, trying to get his bearings. It was too dark, and he was so turned around, but…it came from his right. He was almost certain that was not the way back to the main cavern. "Sammy?" He slapped his brother's back. "Hey, man, you did it."

"Hmm?"

Confidence returning by leaps and bounds, Dean shoved at his brother. "Dude, get off me." Okay, so he could have been a little less blunt, but he was aching for normalcy. And he wanted to get the hell out of there.

Sam untangled himself but didn't move far. "What?"

"Feel that?" Dean asked. "I think you found the way out, Sam."

"I did?"

"Now, if we can get there without killing ourselves." Dean patted down his pockets. "Where'd I put my lighter…?"

"Wait," came Sam's voice, then the rustle of material. A moment later, they were bathed in light, Sam holding the other Maglite.

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go."

Standing was another issue. He tried not to grouse too much when Sam hovered, but the truth was, Dean didn't like the feeling of vertigo when they were still so close to the bottomless pit. He accepted the offered help with only a little grumbling.

They made their way toward the fresh air, Sam keeping Dean on his feet. It seemed like they were finally in the clear, until suddenly Sam stopped. Dean felt the shudder course through his brother's body. Apparently, the hallucinations weren't over yet.

"Sam?"

"_Please_ tell me there's nothing there." Sam stood rigid, breath stuttering. Whatever he was seeing was scaring the hell out of him.

Dean stepped in front of him. "There's nothing there," he said in his best big-brother-knows-what-he's-talking-about voice.

Sam focused on him and, after a moment, nodded. "Good. That's…really good." With a sharp intake of breath, Sam straightened to his full height and plunged ahead, moving past Dean into the passage.

Dean followed closely, and not just to keep eye on his brother; Sam _was_ holding the light, after all. The proximity seemed to help. Every time Sam faltered, a hand on his shoulder got him through.

"Thanks," Sam said softly.

Dean didn't know what to say, so he just slid his hand up and gave the nape of his brother's neck a squeeze.

They had to be close to getting out of there. He gave Sam a shove to get them moving again. The wafts of fresh air teased him relentlessly. Dean wanted _out_.

Sam stopped.

Aw, man.

"You hear that?"

"Sam…" Okay, so maybe they weren't out of the woods yet…er, so to speak.

"No, really. Listen."

Dean sighed. "Sam, there's nothing—"

A wall of air blasted his body, and he took a step back. Then he heard it. It sounded like—

"Get down!" He grabbed Sam and threw him to the floor, covering his brother's body with his own an instant before all hell broke loose. High-pitched squeals and the thunder of hundreds of flapping wings soared over top of them. Dean didn't move until it was silent again. He slowly pulled his arms from over his head and pushed himself up. "Okay, I take it back. There _was_ something."

"Ow," said Sam, face still pressed against rock. He sat up, rubbing his chest with a grimace where he'd landed on the light. "Was that—?"

"Bats," Dean finished for him, then gave in to a full-body shiver. "Flying rats."

"Well," Sam climbed to his feet, "at least we know one thing."

"What's that?"

"We're headed the right way."

Dean smiled broadly and dork-slapped his brother for good measure.

They emerged from the mouth of the cave into a moonlit forest, and Dean threw himself prostrate on the moist grass with a moan of pleasure.

"It's cold," Sam said, sitting down beside him.

Dean rolled over and stared up through the leaf-sparse branches. "You had to remind me." He pushed up onto his elbows and looked with loathing at the gaping maw they'd just clawed their way out of. Okay, bit of an exaggeration, but, hey. "Can I just say how much I _hate_ _caves_!" Then he fell back to the grass and lifted a hand to his pounding head.

"Feel better now?"

"Shut up."

"Yeah, I love you, too."

That about summed it up right there.

**oooOOOooo**

"Man, will you quit hogging the tissues?" Sam followed up his demand with a sneeze.

"Got any cheese to go with that whine?" Dean's bandaged hands skimmed across the bed for the tissue box he'd liberated from the bathroom. "And cover your mouth when you sneeze. Geez, didn't I teach you anything? You're gonna get me double sick."

Sam sighed, long-suffering. "You can't get 'double sick,' Dean."

"Thank you, Doctor Sam." Dean located the box and tugged a wad of tissues—or sandpaper masquerading as tissues—free. He sat back and leaned to the side in an attempt to see the TV, since _someone_ was standing in the way. "You make a better door than a window."

Sam lifted his hands from his sides and gave Dean a _well? I'm waiting_ look.

It was Dean's turn to sigh. He lobbed the box at his brother. "You are one miserable mother when you're sick, you know that?"

Sam's head dropped to one side and his shoulders fell. "Why don't you go—"

Dean sneezed. It felt like someone drove a stake through his head. A strangled cry pushed past his lips and he pressed his fingers into his temples.

Warm, gentle hands unexpectedly covered his, and he felt the bed dip under Sam's weight. "Hey, you okay?" he asked softly.

Dean growled, "Does it look like I'm okay?"

This time, Sam didn't take the bait. "Maybe we should get you to a hospital…"

"No." Dean's eyes popped open. "No way, man."

"All right, all right," Sam said in that voice he used when he was trying to calm someone down. "Let me see your eyes."

Dean huffed another sigh but let his brother check. "I'm fine if I don't sneeze."

"Or cough," Sam added helpfully, tilting Dean's head toward the light. "Or blow your nose."

"Yeah, yeah."

With a satisfied nod, Sam lowered his hands. "Get some rest. The medication should be kicking in."

"Yeah, yeah."

There was a pause as Sam looked down, considering his words.

Uh-oh.

"Dean, I—"

"You're blocking the TV again, Gigantor." He knew Sam was going to apologize. And there was absolutely nothing for the kid to be sorry for.

Sam seemed to figure that out, too, because he smiled. He stayed there a moment longer, fixing Dean with a look that said so much. The apology was there, but the worry lines on his forehead had smoothed out. He patted Dean's shoulder, then stood, grabbed the tissue box from where he'd dropped it, and placed it on the nightstand between the beds. "Goodnight, jerk."

"G'night, bitch."

Ah, it was good to be back home.

**~End~**


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